


If You Go Not to the Elves (They Will Come to You)

by feverishsea



Series: To the East There Is a Mountain [4]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-11 00:45:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feverishsea/pseuds/feverishsea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Relations with the elves really were very poorly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "Go not to the Elves for counsel, for they will say both no and yes."
> 
> [My tumblr. I also say no and yes.](http://seatsreservedforheroes.tumblr.com/)

Relations with the elves really were very poorly.

Thorin rose from his chair - not a throne, for Thror’s throne had long since been destroyed, and Thorin had been oddly reluctant to build another - and gave the Prince of Mirkwood a small, stilted bow.

“Welcome to Erebor,” Thorin said, sounding about as welcoming as cat to a bath. “We hope that you will enjoy your time here, however short it may be.” Bilbo winced a bit. Thorin looked very regal with his silver-threaded hair spilling full over his shoulders, in all his furs and finery, sitting on the grand chair a determined dwarf dug out of the wreckage weeks back. And yet Bilbo found he desired this Thorin less than the bare-sleeved one with the harsh tongue and constant glower. Perhaps it was just that this more kingly Thorin was less honest. Bilbo did not know what Thorin could do about that, but he was sure that Thorin could at least be slightly more diplomatic.

“Thank you for your great generosity,” the blond elf drawled, looking around with one eyebrow raised. Bilbo quickly developed a desire to kick him.

The prince and the king glared at each other, and the scene hovered on the precipice of disaster until a joyous voice called, “Lady Tauriel!” from behind the throne.

All eyes turned to Kili, who trotted up to the elves with a grin stretching across his handsome face from ear to ear. The elf prince gave Kili a look that could melt glass, but Kili took no notice, and the elf maid that stepped forward ignored her prince just as entirely. She was tall and fair and stern, but when Kili took her hand and bowed over it, the ice melted a little, at least enough for her to smile.

“You look well,” she said in a low tone, and then jerked her head up to glance around like she’d forgotten they were surrounded. There was something very straightforward about her that reminded Bilbo of Thorin himself.

Amusingly, both Thorin and the elf prince looked impotently furious. Bilbo actually saw them glance at each other and mirror looks of frustration, only to realize who they commiserated with, and swiftly look away.

Bilbo shook his head and someone nudged his shoulder. He glanced up at Bofur and gave the dwarf a quick smile. Bofur nodded toward the scene in front of them, made a face, and winked. Bilbo smothered a laugh. He nudged Bofur back. His lack of time and attention for such a good friend was a near-constant regret for him, one in a string of many. Bilbo had long ago given up hope of being without regret for one thing or another.

When he turned his attention back to the elves, they were already leaving the room. He glanced around frantically, looking for clues about what he’d missed.

“Time for dinner, lad,” Bofur whispered in his ear. “Even elves eat. Though maybe not that poncey one.”

Bilbo slapped a hand over his face to stop a giggle and felt an answering rumble in Bofur’s shoulders, close to him as they were. The laughter loosened something inside of him that he hadn’t realized was tight; he hadn’t known how much he’d needed a laugh until he had one again. Hobbits weren’t meant for this sort of serious business, or the nearness of kings, no, they most certainly weren’t. Bilbo didn’t know what he was thinking. 

He cast a doubtful eye at the stone rising up around him, and at the swarthy, hairy friend at his side. For the first time in a very long time, Bilbo thought that perhaps it might do him good to leave. To not be a stranger amongst company, to smell the fresh air and see the sun, to strike out towards new ventures that he might hope of measuring up to.

“I was wondering,” Bilbo began, and Bofur immediately turned to look at him, “if perhaps you thought…”

A familiar heavy hand settled on his shoulder.

Bilbo felt the weight of it and saw Bofur’s smile fade and turned to see Thorin scowling down at him as if they were all of a piece. The words turned to dust in his throat.

“Master Bofur,” Thorin said, cold and removed as if they had not fought side by side for months. It was a dismissal.

Bilbo opened his mouth to protest but Bofur caught his eye and shook his head, so Bilbo closed it again. The fingers on his shoulder squeezed tighter.

“Your Highness,” Bofur said, the very barest hint of mockery in his voice, and turned away with a bow. He didn’t look back, so Bilbo just gazed unhappily after his stiff shoulders, proud for all their lack of adornment.

When Bofur slipped out of sight Bilbo turned around, dislodging Thorin’s grip of his shoulder in the process. He glared up at the king, who looked less angry than he had a second ago, though still dissatisfied.

“That was unkind,” Bilbo snapped. “I’ve no idea what your trouble with Bofur is, but there’s no need for… that.”

Thorin’s scowl deepened, the way it always did when he was scolded. Bilbo couldn’t help picturing him as a child, face bare and open, terribly stubborn, planting his feet and refusing to give way. He must have been a terror; heaven knew he was one now.

“You do have an idea.” Thorin’s deep voice rumbled through him even as those piercing eyes dropped away to look down at the stone floor.

And - oh. Well. Bilbo supposed he had known, at least a little, he just hadn’t wanted to.

The thought of Thorin jealous over his small heart warmed him, but Bilbo steeled his gaze to steadiness when he met Thorin’s eyes.

“No matter your reasons, it is not your place to drive him off,” Bilbo said, as sternly as he could manage, though his voice wanted to be gentle.

Something very like hurt flinched across Thorin’s face and disappeared. In its wake, Thorin’s expression was reminiscent of the one he used to wear when he thought Bilbo worthless, so long ago that back then Bilbo had been able to ignore it, even as he’d craved something more.

Thorin stepped back; with all his finery, the movement echoed in clinks of armor and whispers of fur. For the first time Bilbo noticed dwarves around them staring. Luckily many of the dwarves had left for the Great Hall already, but the few that remained were none too subtle with their stares.

“You are right. I will… endeavor to correct my actions in the future. You may go after him, rather than accompany me to the Hall, if you would like.”

“A grand offer,” Bilbo bit out before he could stop his tongue. He watched Thorin wince, saw those broad shoulders droop.

“I am sorry,” Thorin muttered, his voice inching toward weariness. “I only meant…”

A hopeless sigh rushed through Bilbo; he fought the urge to hurry to Thorin’s side, and lost. The king under the mountain gave him a look of tired surprise, but also a small smile with a hint of real apology in it. Bilbo mirrored it.

He was sorry. He was sorry that they’d come this far only to end up here, cruelly close and never quite close enough. He was sorry that Thorin’s heart, traitorous as his own, seemed to have chosen him, who could not be all the things Thorin needed, who could not be a fine lady dwarf, or even the sort of hobbit to be stern enough when warranted.

In some ways he wished to turn away, to leave Thorin behind and run after his friend, who undoubtedly needed him as well. It would be wiser for all of them; Bofur did not have the burdens that trapped Thorin, and Bilbo was a clearer-headed judge and jury around Bofur.

Rough skin brushed Bilbo’s hand; he looked up at Thorin’s long-nosed face, more tired than regal in this moment, the silver in his hair a gleaming reminder of the color that had been washed out of him with the many years he’d seen.

“Will you come?” Thorin asked, demanding and cross even when he knew himself not to be in someone’s favor.

Bilbo wished to turn away, to teach Thorin a lesson he knew that Thorin needed. He did.

But he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, and it all amounted to the same thing. Bilbo wished to be the sort of hobbit who could overcome his foolish fancies and leave behind things which would only end in sorrow. But he wasn’t. He might think to leave Thorin’s side on occasion, but then Thorin would snap at him, or glare at him, or leave bruises on his arm from forgetting his strength compared to the skin of a hobbit, and Bilbo would know over and over again that he could not leave, that he never would.

He was thrice-damned fool, but a constant one, he supposed.

“I will come, of course, as I always do,” Bilbo said, and pretended not to despair when he saw happiness, ill-fated as it might be, warm Thorin’s icy stare.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The trouble with following Thorin to the table was that then Bilbo had to sit with him. And the trouble with that was...

  

 

 

"I do not suppose you have any food fit for elves?" Legolas Greenleaf sniffed. Bilbo, Balin, and Fili all gave pre-emptive sighs into their dinner.

 

Thorin (and a host of other dwarves) bristled. "Are you saying that what we provide is not - " Thorin began, clearly choosing to take offense rather than any more charitable option, when he was interrupted.

 

"What is it that ye eat, then? Pony food? We have that in fair plenty."

 

Heads turned to look toward the voice, one that was at once strange and familiar to Bilbo's ear. Legolas turned the most slowly of all, still wearing an expression as though he had a bad smell under his nose.

 

Gimli son of Gloin stared down the table calmly, ignoring the dozens of eyes trained on his face and his father groaning softly by his side.

 

Since the great Battle there had been little enough time for Bilbo to see the dwarves he already knew and considered dear, let alone to make new acquaintances. What Bilbo remembered best about Gimli, then, was a stout blur running through the Gate, ignoring the calls on either side to wait for proper introductions, going straight to his father's side ready with a joyful embrace.

 

Dwarf children were treasured, for they were few and far between, and Bilbo often muttered to himself about the possibility that the spoiling many of them received had something to do with their behavior as they grew. Gimli was a bit off an odd case, though, from what little Bilbo knew or had heard of him: He was not selfish, or quick to temper if he did not get his way. He was in fact almost as good-natured as Kili, though possessed of a more typical dwarven gravity (not to mention an abundance of beard).

 

Perhaps what made Gimli so strange was that on the face of it, he was everything a dwarf should be, and yet he was perfectly happy to throw out at will any tradition or belief he deemed unworthy. Bilbo had met few beings with such an effortless confidence about them; he suspected that Gandalf and the young dwarf would get along merrily.

 

"Well?" Gimli prompted, when no response was forthcoming. He appeared no more fond of elves than the rest of his kin, and did not smile, but his expression was not unkind. "If ye tell us what ye need, lad, we're better equipped to find it. Not often we have elves visitin' these halls, after all."

 

Legolas looked poleaxed. Mental calculations came to Bilbo's head unbidden; by his reckoning, at the least Gimli's mere 80 years put him at a good 1000 years younger than the Prince of Mirkwood. Off to the side, Bilbo saw the elf maid cover her mouth with her hand, as if to hide a smile.

 

"I... well... That is..." Legolas said, clearly struggling for that same haughty tone as before. The way he broke off and looked helplessly to his companion made Bilbo think that perhaps the haughtiness was not quite as essential an element of the elf as he had thought before. Perhaps the airs and graces were in fact an echo of someone else, and this glimpse of an elf that bit his lip with a hint of shyness, or at least hesitation, was closer to the truth.

 

"I could not describe properly to you things that you have never seen, and have never bothered to look for. I would have to show you. That is, if your mountain has the capacity for growth at all," he added. Bilbo resisted an eye roll. So much for a better nature.

 

Gimli did not resist rolling his eyes at all, but he also did not look away from the elf, and he brought up a hand to rub at his chin. "That may be arranged," he said slowly, ignoring the horrified looks from all around him, including the elf. Gimli pursed his lips and then nodded decisively. "Yes, I shall let you know when I have a moment to spare."

 

The elf looked fit to burst, and much farther down the table, Bofur looked fit to burst from holding back laughter. Bilbo shot his friend a wide-eyed stare, hoping for at least a hint of forgiveness. Bofur was too good for both their sakes; he grinned back without any hint of reproach. The smile kicked at Bilbo's chest like a mule.

 

"When you have a moment - " Legolas began, and this time Bilbo took it upon himself to interrupt.

 

"So! Lady Tauriel! Tell me, have you ever been to the Shire?" The elf maid raised her eyebrows at him, but did not turn away. "I am curious as to - er - how far you've wandered."

 

 Tauriel looked uncomfortable, but Kili leaned in and whispered something to her (Bilbo thought he caught the words, "worried" and "pantry"), and her shoulders relaxed slightly.

 

"I have traveled some ways, but not overfar, and certainly not so far as your Shire. To be truthful, I had not even heard of it until you slipped through our fingers." She gave Bilbo a small, fleeting smile, while Legolas frowned into his plate.

 

"Do most of your kind stay close to home?" Bilbo asked, honestly curious now. "I had the sense that many elves had seen near the whole world. Hobbits like to stay close to home too, you know."

 

"Like you?" Another flash of a smile, and the barest hint of a twinkle in her eyes, and Bilbo began to understand why Kili might love this tall, stern lady.

 

Bilbo opened his mouth to answer, but a rumbling voice from the head of the table beat him to it. "Master Baggins is an exceptional hobbit," Thorin said.

 

Eyebrows flew up around the table, and Bilbo desperately fought down a blush. Oh, confound Thorin, must he do this now? Here? Of all the places and times to make a declaration of his affections, this was surely the least opportune.

 

While Bilbo floundered, quick as thought Fili threw a familiar arm around Bilbo's shoulders and said smoothly, "Yes, our hobbit is an exceptional one indeed; we're all very fond of him. And we are a tough crowd, are we not?" he appealed to the other dwarves round the table, who roared their approval back. Bilbo sighed in relief, and Fili gave his shoulders a quick squeeze before releasing him.

 

"So it would seem," Legolas said with a hard stare at Bilbo.

 

Before Thorin could explode, Tauriel took her hand and lightly pressed Legolas back. It was astonishing that such a graceful touch could send Legolas slamming into his seat. The elf maid smiled as though nothing had happened.

 

"Yes, and much more adventurous than I, to my shame. I chose the path of a warrior, but there has been little call to war until now. Always I have stayed in the forest, slaying spiders and orcs and any other beasts that dared cross our borders. Not an exciting life, I am afraid."

 

Legolas frowned. Bilbo winced when the prince opened his mouth again, but when Legolas spoke, it was with honest concern and affection.

 

"Tauriel would ever sell herself short," he said, looking around the table as though daring someone to disagree. He would find no luck there; dwarven women were few, and nearly revered. 

 

Never suffered from a shortness of the company of lasses, Bilbo liked women well enough, but was content to let the conversation wash over him. He looked around the hall and felt a rush of fondness for not only clever Fili, kind Kili, wise Balin, comfort-loving Bombur, and all the other members of their company, but for the dwarves as a whole, strange and distasteful as they could be, and even for the elves, who had relaxed so that they no longer looked like stiff-necked statues, but seemed a part of things. Dwalin was questioning Tauriel as to her experience with an axe, and Legolas was sneaking perplexed looks down the table at an oblivious Gimli.

 

Thorin glanced away from Tauriel long enough to catch Bilbo's eye and give him a questioning look.  _And? Does this satisfy you?_  his expression seemed to ask.

 

Bilbo smiled.


	3. Chapter 3

Sometimes Thorin's presence was as crushing as the mountain, and Bilbo had to escape them both.

 

He ducked outside the gates, stepped into the sunshine, and gulped a lungful of air gratefully. Rarely did he miss the sound of the birds and smell of rain while he was inside, but when he emerged the sights and sensations were sweet to him, and echoed through his soul in a way that he could not explain to his dwarven friends. They did not hate the sun, but they did not crave it, and Bilbo fancied that they thought his need of outside air as weakness.

 

Whether he saw Bilbo's need for the sky a weakness or not, Bilbo knew that Thorin would keep Bilbo from it if he could, for the simple fact that he seemed to resent anything Bilbo needed. Bilbo loved and despised this tendency in equal measure, though he was determined never to give in to it. Great and strong and cunning as he was, Thorin did not always know his own mind, and he certainly did not know what was best for the both of them.

 

Movement on the hill below caught his eye, and Bilbo gladly allowed himself to be pulled from his somber thoughts. Laughter and pleasure came to him with too little ease these days, he could feel it. It was not a natural state of being for Bilbo, but then a hobbit by a dwarf king's side was never going to be a natural state of affairs. Bilbo was willing to suffer for it; had always been willing to suffer for it.

 

He scrambled up on a ledge and peered down at one long, lean form and a stouter one by its side, both of them kneeling on the hill.

 

The sun caught on the long blond hair tumbling down the taller one's back, and then Bilbo knew who this odd pair was. He leaned closer to the wind.

 

"No, no, that is simply grass, whatever are you thinking?" Legolas's voice seemed lighter and fairer out here in the open, somehow, than it did trapped inside echoing caverns.

 

Gimli, however, sounded the same as he ever did when he scoffed, "I'm thinkin' yer a poor teacher and this is of little use, is what I'm thinkin'."

 

The elf prince rocked back on his heels, giving Gimli an astonished look that Bilbo could see even from his vantage point. He braced himself.

 

"You are a forthright creature," Legolas finally said.

 

It was not often that Gimli appeared taken aback, but he did so now, blinking and squinting in the sunlight. Finally the dwarf said gruffly, "I do not see the point in being aught else."

 

Legolas laughed. The sound of an elf's laughter was musical even when there was something sad about it, as there was here.

 

"Ah!" Legolas exclaimed. "You are lucky then, my fr- Well. I say, you are lucky. To speak one's mind freely is a gift; to not know it for one is another."

 

Gimli scratched at his beard and craned his neck to stare up at his companion.

 

"You speak in riddles, elf," Gimli accused, though with no real heat behind it. Legolas shrugged.

 

"I do not intend to. If I confuse you, I am sorry; I speak to you now as plainly as I am able."

 

"Hmph." Gimli scrabbled in the dirt a moment more before giving up, brushing his hands clean as he rose to his feet. "I cannae understand ye, and I for the life of me I cannae tell the difference between a weed and a proper plant. Could be there's just some things unable to be changed, and the ways of folks strange as elves are one of them." He raised his hand, like he was about to pat the prince of Mirkwood on the back, and then seemed to reconsider.

 

If Legolas noticed, he said nothing, though Bilbo noticed that the elf did not rise to his feet, but instead stayed kneeling, close to eye level with Gimli.

 

The elf stared at Gimli for a long time before saying, "Perhaps it is so. But then, like this mountain, perhaps there is room still for growth."

 

It was not until a long while later that the elf prince's words returned to Bilbo's head unbidden, and he realized what they might mean. At that time Bilbo was walking along the stone corridor back to his room, and he stumbled, mind's eye seeing again Legolas's soft expression.

 

"Hail, Bilbo!" Kili cried, that cheerful voice unmistakable even when Bilbo's head was full of other things. "Well met, well met." He yanked Bilbo up by the collar and slapped him enthusiastically on the back.

 

"Yes, thank you, Kili," Bilbo said crossly, trying to escape. He was about to say something more pointed when he spotted the lady by Kili's side, looking tall and fair and stern, as she always did. Well, none could accuse Kili of putting on airs to gain favors, Bilbo supposed.

 

"And well met, Lady Tauriel." Bilbo gave her a small bow, which she returned.

 

"And you, Master Hobbit. Will you walk with us? Our enthusiastic friend here was guiding me to my rooms."

 

Kili beamed like he'd been complimented grandly; perhaps he had, who knew? The ways of the elves were mysterious and all that. More likely Kili was simply happy with any attention given, like a puppy. He was easy to please that way, and easy to love. Bilbo knew it well; though his heart belonged to another, still he would just as gladly die for Kili if ever the need arose.

 

He shook his head a bit, frustrated with himself. Who knew hobbits to dwell on such dark thoughts? It was the mountain, and the company, he supposed, leading his mind down pathways that it would never have ventured near otherwise.

 

"Yes, of course, I would be happy to," he said, and Tauriel gave him one of her small smiles.

 

"You seem troubled, Master Hobbit." For all her armor and dignity, she was capable of surprisingly convincing sympathy; her eyes were soft when they met his, and her touch was light on his shoulder.

 

He considered speaking with her.

 

A hand landed on his other shoulder, as rough as Tauriel's was gentle, and Bilbo gritted his teeth to bear up under it.

 

"Of course he's troubled!" Kili said, cheerful about it as ever. "When have you ever heard of a dwarf and a hobbit - "

 

"Enough, Kili." Bilbo spoke quietly, but the meaning of it must have been clear, because for once in his life Kili actually did stop in his tracks. In the dim tunnel lit only by torches, he was just able to make out Kili's wide-eyed face. He felt suddenly very tired. "I am sorry, but I do not think - I have just remembered, I am - tired. I should go back to my bed."

 

Kili reached out a large, clumsy hand; Bilbo dodged it easily. "No, wait, don't go, Bilbo. Please? I didn't mean to - "

 

It wasn't fair of him to be so angry at Kili when half a second before he'd been contemplating doing the same as Kili had done, but Bilbo couldn't help it. He was tired and heartsick and wanted comfort, and knew that he could not seek it. The elf reached out to him as well, and Bilbo edged back.

 

"Listen, I told you..."

 

Bilbo's voice, never especially strong in the company of dwarves, was buried under the roar that came echoing down the corridor.

 

The three of them froze, distracted from their small troubles, and all turned to see Gloin pelting down the tunnel toward them, Oin at his heels and Ori stumbling along behind.

 

"And here's more elves!" Gloin shouted, cheeks red and eyes dark with fury. "Can't escape the lot of them! You, lad!" He pointed an accusatory finger at Kili, who glanced furtively at Bilbo, who had no idea how to help him. "You're a bad influence, is what you are! You think it's funny to cavort around with our enemies, and now my Gimli won't step away from the blasted Mirkwood scum."

 

Bilbo snapped a look at Tauriel, but luckily she was merely narrow-eyed and watchful, rather than furious. It had been a long time since he was around folk able to differentiate between a meaningless insult and one worth killing for.

 

Tauriel could say nothing, and Kili looked utterly lost, so in spite of a lifetime of inclination Bilbo stepped forward and said as soothingly as he could, "There are worse things than a diplomat for a son. Why not let Gimli do what he can for the kingdom?"

 

He hoped to appeal to Gloin's pride in his son, but his hopes were in vain: Gloin swung around to glare at him, looking more furious than ever.

 

"My son is a warrior, not some sneaking silver-tongue!" he roared. Bilbo willed himself not to wince back. "You would tell me to accept this kind of unnatural behavior in my only son?"

 

Tauriel's brows started to draw together. Bilbo quickly spoke before she could.

 

"Is it so unnatural?" he asked, and perhaps the honest question in his voice gave Gloin some pause. "When we are alone, secure within our borders, it feels right to be amongst our kin. But when we leave our lands, and meet others, and find them not so unlike ourselves, perhaps it is inevitable that we should learn how to love strangers."

 

Gloin had subsided somewhat, until Bilbo mentioned talk of love; then he flushed hotly again and swore.

 

"We have no want of others! We have no need of others! Why should we, when our kin are here? All the way across Middle-Earth we fought, and now we are in our own mountain and still we cannot escape this cursed plague of elves and men and hobbits!"

 

Bilbo could not help it. He flinched.

 

Voices flared up around him; he could not pick out one from another in the din. He saw Oin looking worried, and Ori looking shocked, and Kili step forward with his teeth bared in a snarl, eyes burning like cold fire.

 

  
_I did not mean for this to happen,_ Bilbo thought numbly.  _I did not mean to do this._  


"What is the meaning of this racket?"

 

Thorin's words, though not loud, carried weight as they always did, and though the shouting did not stop, it quieted. Gloin looked mutinous, and Kili looked murderous - Kili took a step forward and Bilbo grabbed his arm.

 

"Halfling, why are you herding my nephew?" That voice was close now, but Bilbo ignored it in favor of staring appealingly at Kili. His heart ached; a minute ago he'd been punishing Kili for a trifle, and now the dwarf was willing to risk his Uncle's displeasure to defend Bilbo's honor.

 

"It - I - nothing. It is nothing." Bilbo could not explain or justify; didn't even try.

 

"This lot is bringing strange folk into the mountain, and I've had enough of it," Gloin seethed. He stared daggers at Bilbo, who masked his emotions as best he could. He'd always considered Gloin a friend, and though he knew this rage wasn't truly directed at him, it still stung. "You know what the elves did to us. They'd do it again if they had half a chance. And now they're slippin' right into the mountain, getting our guard down, learning our secrets. By the leave of our king!"

 

Thorin growled and stepped forward, his arm brushing past Bilbo's. Gloin seemed to realize he'd gone too far. He stepped back, though his expression was still furious.

 

"Mind your tongue," Thorin hissed. He started to look towards the elf, and then purposefully did not. Tauriel did not try to melt into the background; couldn't have, even if she'd wished to. "If I say they are welcome, then they will be welcomed. Do you hear me?" He paused for a second, and when no reply was forthcoming, gave a grim nod. "Now go to your beds. All of you. It is long past times for these games." He shot Kili a pointed look, and raised his eyebrows at Tauriel, who nodded.

 

The dwarves started to disperse, grumbling - others, strangers to Bilbo, had drifted close to the clamor, and few of the dwarves, even those belonging to the Company, seemed pleased by the outcome of the near-fight. Bilbo eyed them worriedly for a second and then turned to go.

 

A hand caught his elbow. Bilbo closed his eyes. Yes, he supposed he had known that was coming.

 

When he opened his eyes again, Thorin was frowning at him. "If our fellowship fails, our kingdom fails," he began, and -

 

And Bilbo could not do this.

 

He pulled away from Thorin, hugging his arms close to his body. "I'm sorry," he said, apologizing blindly for... Oh, he didn't know, and what did it matter? There was a hole in the kingdom - in Thorin - and Bilbo could not fill it, no matter how he tried. "I cannot change the minds of those bent to suspicion."

 

Thorin's scowl deepened. "Suspicion knit us together all those long years when we were exiles," he began.

 

"And now it is tearing you apart!" Bilbo shouted. He took a step away, and then another, breathing hard. "I am sorry, for - for not being able to - not being able to be other than I am, I suppose." His voice cracked. "I must go."

 

Bilbo walked away, and Thorin did not call him back.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of a battle; the aftermath of the war.

Before Bilbo could finish drying his face, there was a knock at his door. He frowned into the washcloth. Thorin's knock was louder, and Kili's more enthusiastic. Perhaps it was Balin.

He walked to the door, steeling himself for another lecture, and opened it to find...

 

"Gloin?" he said, perplexed. As angry and hurtful as Gloin had been, Bilbo couldn't find it in himself to really be afraid of the dwarf, so if Gloin wasn't there to kill him or yell at him more, he didn't know what was going on.

 

"Master Baggins," Gloin said. His voice was quiet and his eyes downcast. "I come to seek your pardon for the things I said in anger. I was wrong."

 

Gloin was (usually) a decent dwarf, one with a fierce love of his kin and a sensible head on his shoulders, less inclined to grumble than some, but not overly cheerful like others. Next to his son, who Bilbo suspected would someday prove to be the stuff legends are made of, it was easy to forget Gloin's worth. But when he forced his head up to meet Bilbo's eyes with a steady gaze, Bilbo was reminded that Gloin was a worthy soul himself.

 

Still, that didn't mean Bilbo forgave him.

 

"I..." he started to say, and then remembered that brittle look in Thorin's eyes. "I..." 

 

"I accept your apology," he said, and pretended that he did not see the knowing look on Gloin's face.

 

 

***

 

 

No more than an hour later his door slammed open. Bilbo did not even bother to turn around; if it was not in fact Thorin he would have to ask whatever monster had found him to give him but a moment to eat his hat.

 

"I must apologize if you took my words as harsh," Thorin said behind him. Bilbo could not hold back a small sigh. Even his apology held blame. But perhaps this was the way of kings; Bilbo supposed it was difficult to believe that you held divine favor and could yet be in the wrong against mere hobbits.

 

"I accepted Gloin's apology," Bilbo said wearily. He walked from his little bookshelf to the table and rearranged his washcloth on the basin. 

 

"Oh?" Thorin sounded genuinely surprised. "That... that is good of you." He paused. "I think that you should leave."

 

Had he ever considered this possibility before, Bilbo would have expected the words to hit him like a blade, slicing through him and ripping him in half. But when Thorin spoke, Bilbo found himself simply nodding, as though he had been expecting it all the while.

 

"Oh," he said, staring into the empty basin. "I... I see."

 

Heavy footsteps started toward him and stopped when he could feel the edge of Thorin's heat bleeding into him. "No, you do not see," Thorin said, sounding frustrated, "because you will not turn around."

 

His words startled a choked laugh out of Bilbo; he slapped a hand to his face and shook his head.

 

"Very well," Bilbo said, and slowly turned.

 

Thorin stood there with a misery on his face Bilbo hadn't seen before - something quiet and hopeless that had given up on desperation. There were always new sorrows, it seemed. Thorin's face was pale and tired, and his hands were draped in strings of gold.

 

"What..." Bilbo started to ask, and then just managed to avoid flinching as Thorin surged forward. He stopped just in front of Bilbo and carefully took Bilbo's hands, the heat of Thorin's skin contrasting with the strands of cool gold that overlapped his wrists.

 

"It is not as you think," Thorin said, low and earnest and cracking at the end. "It is no banishment I would inflict on you. I wish you to go with all the honor of a prince, with as many jewels as you will take, and know that I will never allow your name to be forgotten when our battles are made into song."

 

The stone of the mountain was cold under Bilbo's feet, though normally he did not notice it.

 

"But then... why..." He wanted to pull back, to punish Thorin in even some small petty way. But the thought of never again feeling that forge-hot skin scraping roughly against his own turned Bilbo to stone, though the battle-terror of a dragon had not been able to do so.

 

For a moment Thorin was silent and merely looked at Bilbo. He did not plead or cajole or apologize with his eyes, as he had been wont to do. Those piercing blue eyes did not seem sharp just then; they were soft and melancholy. Before now Bilbo had not known that Thorin knew how to be sad without being fierce.

 

"Because you are not happy here, my halfling," Thorin finally said. His grip loosened around Bilbo's hands. "You miss your sun and stars and eastern winds. You long to grow plants in a little garden. You desire a life of peace. If you wished for caverns or secret little rivers or a voice in the fate of men I would have granted you all you asked, but these things you wish for I have no power to give you."

 

Bilbo felt as though all the air had been wrenched from his lungs, but he forced out his words in spite of it.

 

"What you say is true, but you cannot promise me that I will find all the flowers in the Shire more lovely than... than..." Bilbo stalled, suddenly aware that he was about to stumble across a line they had always stayed within. This was how it was between them; a maze of unspoken lines and heartbreaking impossibilities.

 

Thorin lifted one big hand and drew it down Bilbo's face, grazing his cheek with calluses.

 

"You see?" Thorin almost whispered. The both of them had always been so careful to remain within the lines, though Bilbo was never sure what they were afraid of. Perhaps it was the unknown consequences to Durin's line, or to themselves. Perhaps they were simply afraid of each other.

 

"I... I want to stay with you," he said, his voice high and feeble even to his own ears.

 

Thorin managed a small, rueful smile.

 

"And I am grateful for it, but I am not the sort of dwarf with whom you might live on love alone. You think that I lack all self-awareness but I tell you I know that I am stubborn, and difficult, and even when my time is free my mind often is not." He let Bilbo's hands drop and stepped back. Bilbo fought the urge to wrap his arms about his own waist for some small false comfort.

 

"Good of you to decide for both of us, and spare me the trouble," Bilbo managed, biting his lips to stave away the hot tears that threatened to rush forward.

 

Thorin gave him that awful faint smile again.

 

"It had to be done by one of us, and you are twice as loyal as you are tall, halfling. I have always been the selfish one; you shall walk away remembering me as I am, I hope. If you do that, you shall not mourn me overmuch."

 

Bilbo had to look away. He pursed his lips and gave his head a small shake, willing his tears to wait just a moment or two longer.

 

"You see," Thorin said very gently, his voice fading away already as Bilbo heard him walk toward the door, "I have betrayed you, and yet you are too worn to fight me. You are a creature of sunlight, halfling. You were never made to walk in the darkness of the mountain, not even with me beside you as your guide."

 

  
_If I could learn to love you, I could learn to love the mountain_ , Bilbo thought, but Thorin had already walked out and shut the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hate mail goes to http://seatsreservedforheroes.tumblr.com/ :)
> 
> (PS I'm planning on a last part to the series.)


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